


tripping on your good intentions

by dreamtowns



Category: The Dragon Prince (Cartoon)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Assassination Attempt(s), Family Fluff, Fluff, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Mild Language, Recovery
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-08
Updated: 2018-10-07
Packaged: 2019-07-28 00:08:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,183
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16230125
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreamtowns/pseuds/dreamtowns
Summary: When an assassin threatens the peace and sanctity of his father’s birthday, Callum reacts without thought. He is the step-son, the replaceable prince, and so he will do everything he can to save his father’s life.Even if it means sacrificing his own.





	tripping on your good intentions

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own The Dragon Prince. All rights reserved to its developers: Wonderstorm + Netflix. All that is mine is the plot of this story in particular and any original characters introduced. No copyright infringement intended. No money is being made from this work. This is purely for entertainment purposes.
> 
> Enjoy :)

Before Callum notices the glint of the weapon, Ezran pulls him onto the dance floor. “Let’s dance,” his little brother chirps, dragging Callum away from his self-imposed corner of gloom. “You’re being too frowny, Cal.”

“I’m always frowny,” Callum responds, and Ezran giggles.

On the designated dance floor, they begin a waltz even though Ezran is too short. The boy ends up clinging to Callum’s waist, stepping on his feet. Callum doesn’t complain, only smiles, and, in the back of his mind, hopes that the warmth in his veins will stay there forever.

It’s King Harrow’s birthday, so, of course, a gala had been thrown. Royals and nobles from the other kingdoms arrived in drones, and Callum’s head aches at all the faces and names his tutor attempted to pound into his head.

“Heir or not,” he had sniffed, “you are still a prince, therefore you are expected _to act like one_.”

Callum had ignored the subtle sneer on his tutors’ face and focused on failing at memorization.

As he and Ezran sweep around various older women and men of the kingdom, Callum ignores the stares upon him. He knows what their eyes say, what their thoughts think, of his presence in the castle now that his mother is long gone.

_Uncrowned Prince. The Prince with no Name. The Prince with no Throne. Kingdomless Prince. Step-Prince._

(Callum has heard it all before).

The music winds down, and he and Ezran step off to the side for a breather. Ezran’s chattering about something Bait had done earlier that morning, and Callum attempts to listen but his little brother speaks too quickly, changing his topic and slurring his words a little, and Callum isn’t sure if they’re talking about Bait or the stray lizard Ezran always finds on his windowsill every morning.

“—and so then…” Ezran stops, blinks, and then greets, “Hi, dad!”

Callum turns to see his father smiling at them, walking closer. “Hello, boys,” he greets. “How are you enjoying the gala?”

“It’s good,” says Ezran. “I really like the music.”

“Ah, yes,” his father nods. “I believe General Amaya recommended the little band.”

Ezran and Callum perk up at the mention of their aunt. Their badass aunt who singlehandedly protects the Breach from all sorts of monsters ready to swallow the human kingdom whole. Callum doesn’t really understand why (and he really, really doesn’t want to).

“How does it feel to be old?” Callum teases quietly, wary of being overheard from any visiting noble who might take offense to his words.

His father laughs, a joyous sound that floats in the air and makes heads turn. “You know, Callum, pretty soon _you’ll_ be my age.”

Callum almost scrunches up his nose, but then he remembers the frosty glare of his etiquette tutor, and quirks the edges of his lips instead. “You wish. I’ll stay young forever.”

“Me too,” Ezran pipes in with a hop. “I don’t want to get wrinkly.”

“Hey now,” his father pouts. “Don’t tease a man on his birthday.”

“We’re teasing you because it’s your birthday,” Ezran responds smartly. “It’s, like, a birthday tradition.”

“I see,” his father says, eyes sparkling.

The band begins another song, this one a beautiful tune that makes Callum, for some reason, think of his mother, and his father touches his shoulder.

“Care to dance with your wrinkly old man?”

“Yeah sure,” Callum says, his teasing lilt gone as more and more eyes train onto him and his father when they walk towards the dance floor. “Um. So. How are you doing? Really?”

“I’m doing well,” his father replies as they begin dancing. “And you, Callum? I know you aren’t all that fond of closely packed spaces.”

Callum smiles. “I’m okay.”

He wasn’t, really, but it was fine. His father’s birthday didn’t deserve to be ruined because his step-son got anxious when too many people surrounded him on all sides. He can survive one night in a birthday gala. He can.

His father begins idle chatter about things Callum would normally be interested in, but the sense that something is _wrong,_ that something terrible is going to happen, consumes his every thought. His father’s smooth baritone floats over him, and Callum nods occasionally to show he’s listening, and he hears Ezran in the background, talking with Claudia.

And then he sees it.

Callum knows that as the step-son, he isn’t worth much. He’s a Prince, of course, but his status means nothing when Ezran is the heir to the throne. He’s a spare—and, according to his prowess in his tutoring and his sword lessons, not even a good one. What this means, though, is that Callum is expendable. His life means nothing compared to his father’s or Ezran’s.

So, when he sees the man (not a guard, not a noble, but nondescript; easily forgettable) sweep by in a relaxed, nonchalant stride, and notices the wickedly sharp blade hidden in his clothes that he begins to slowly draw out the closer he gets to his father’s unarmed back, Callum moves without thought.

_“NO!”_

Claudia moves before anyone realizes what’s wrong, what’s been done, and tackles the assassin to the ground. His weapon skidders out of his reach, a hauntingly beautiful sight amongst polished shoes and shocked cries of dignitaries and royals, steel stained with crimson red blood. Crownsguard storm in their direction, faces stony and furious, and his father narrows his eyes as he takes in the blood on the assassin’s sword.

“What…?” his father mutters under his breath.

Callum attempts to breathe around the hole in his chest. He makes no sound, and tries to look smaller, unnoticeable, but that’s a bit difficult as he’s in the middle of the chaos.

“How did he _get in here?”_ barks on Crownsguard, hauling Claudia off of the assassin and restraining him with shackles.

“Probably slipped in with the guests,” comments Opeli, who appears at Callum’s shoulder without warning. “Are you alright, Prince Callum?”

“Uh huh,” Callum replies.

He’s sure his etiquette teacher won’t scold him too much for his “peasant-like” response.

 His father’s eyebrows furrow as he drinks in Callum’s appearance. “Are you positive? As I am uninjured, we don’t know where the blood came from—.”

Callum wheezes, and his knees crumble underneath him. Swirls of color blacken his eyes when Opeli tries to catch him but jerks back, her hand covered in his blood. His father catches him instead.

“Shit,” says one Crownsguard, at the sight of Opeli’s hands. _“Shit.”_

His father holds him (cradles him, really), his expression a maelstrom of emotions Callum is too tired and hurt to decode. “Callum, sweetie, why did you do that?” he doesn’t wait for a response before he stands, Callum, wilted and bleeding, in his arms, and says, in a commanding tone, “Soren, Marcos—get Prince Ezran _out of here_. Opeli, Viren…” he barks out a few other names, a few more commands, but Callum’s drifting too far away to make sense of the words.

The last thing he hears, before he slips into sweet darkness, is Ezran’s voice floating above the clamor, shrieking his name.

**Author's Note:**

> this was supposed to be a one-shot. oh well. it's short because i'm tired and my brain is like "what are words??" and i just wanted to get this concept out before it was lost forever lmao. let me know your thoughts!! 
> 
> you can yell at me at my tdp tumblr @x-adia!


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